Chapter 4

Today was the first day I wasn't limited to just the boys from Orientation. I wanted to cut loose and sample each and every one that I could. I didn't, though. A Taliaferro shows some restraint. I just tackled the first boy I could after undressing.

Right away I learned a very interesting lesson. All boys feel more or less the same when they're inside you. Oh, some are thicker than others, and some longer. But the feeling of his dick as it pushes up your channel is pretty much the same. Girth, that's a problem, but an average sized guy can feel a foot long if he takes his time putting it in. It's the rest of the body that's the real difference.

That whole first day I did it every other period. Gym was a blast, two dozen kids, spray, heat, and exploring fingers, as well as something else that sticks out. I was light-headed from all of that male attention by the time I got to History. And there we went right back to the Regency.

This time we were at a formal tea. The History class was partly an understanding of how a society organized itself, and an English Tea was a good way to learn the customs. We sipped, we nibbled, we talked, oh how we talked, and we learned. Or at least some of us did. I was still caught up in the aftermath of my last climax, and I think I stuttered my way through it. I probably came across as an airhead.

I noticed all of the attention paid to my rather prominent bosom. Guys had wonderful conversations with my boobs. I'd have to trim them back a bit. I felt like a freaking cow. A girl shouldn't feel so conspicuous, at least that way.

When we got back I started researching the corset. Was it in use in this period? (yes it was). Were we wearing them? (no). The moment I could, I stuck my hand up.

"While it wasn't considered acceptable for a proper young lady to go about without one," she said, "it did happen. It was considered an odd quirk, usually corrected right away."

"I think I got far more attention than I should have," I said. "My boobs weren't confined very much, and they seemed to attract everyone's attention."

"You'll get that in almost any culture," she said. "Ironically, that doesn't apply in those cultures where women don't conceal their bosoms. People accept them, and while they look, they pay more attention to what they can't see. Tomorrow we'll check across the Channel in France, and you'll see the differences. There the corset only made a comeback after the Bourbons returned." Her lips thinned. "They tried to roll the clock back to 1791, socially as well as politically, but it didn't work, not directly. Louis XVIII was succeeded by his brother Charles, who tried autocratic rule. That led to another revolution, this time in 1830. We'll cover that later."

That was something to look forward to. She tagged several articles about dress and customs in Napoleonic France, and I skimmed through them. There was a lot of freedom for women there. The corset vanished, briefly, and in Paris the unlined dress appeared, but only for a little while. The old strictures gradually came back. France was a lot more traditional than people realized, especially then. You get that in an agrarian society where people live from harvest to harvest. Underwear was gradually making an appearance, but something like panties, or whatever you wanted to call them, wouldn't start showing up until the 1840s, and then caused a lot of controversy.

"What did they do about their periods?" I asked. "They didn't have tampons."

"Pads," the teacher replied, "and they pinned them to their shifts. A lot of women were 'indisposed' during that time of the month. And the vast majority of sewing that a woman did was to make those pads."

That was food for thought. She handed me an assignment to do a paper on the changing underwear styles. With that in hand I trudged off to my next class. This was another one in the Clone. I'd learned my lesson, and this time a 32A bra didn't cut into my 32C chest. I just didn't wear the thing. Sure, I bounced and jiggled, but that was the price I paid.

This whole thing with a larger bosom was more of a drag than I thought it would be. Every girl loves and hates her boobs. They're a visible sign that she's growing up, but they have to be coddled and cared for. Oh, that doesn't mean rubbing lotion into them, or anything like that. You have a special garment just for them, the bra, and you have to buy clothes that fit properly. One of the things I learned—another class assignment—was that a lot of girls with large bosoms had to buy the next size larger, and then have it tailored. They also dragged down your chest, and too much rapid movement could hurt unless they were supported.

I'd wanted big boobs because I thought they'd be sexy (in other words, to attract boys). But so did every other girl in the school. Girls getting out of Orientation were noticeable because of our outsized boobs. I went back to a more "normal" size almost right after class. I stopped into the school's office and submitted a request. They processed it, and when I stepped back through the office door, my size shrank to what I'd requested. I went from a large 32C to a 32B, but there was more to it than that.

A woman's breast actually has a center of mass. Sometimes that point is well out from the ribcage, and other times it isn't. This affects the shape of the breast. The closer it is to the body, the more it spreads out. The band and cup size are only a general indication of a girl's size. Saying I had a 32B is only half the story. I also wanted ones that were a little closer to the chest. This made them more supported by the body. I only dropped one cup size, but in reality I looked much more "normal". It also meant that if I wore a bra, I didn't need an underwire. That was a future consideration outside of the Construct. Underwires helped with the support, but brought their own problems.

I talked with one of the other girls, one who was normally large up there, and then went back to my locker. I put on my bra, and surprise-surprise, it fit properly for my new bust. Guys will never understand this, but there's something that just feels good about a properly fitted bra.

I went back to the office and asked how that had happened.

"The programming makes changes for brassieres," the woman said. "You have to have a change on file, which you did, and when the change was made, the program altered your brassiere. You'll want to double-check the fit."

"Why didn't that happen the first time?"

She smiled. "You have to actually go out of Claiborne and come back in for the change to happen."

"But that first time=="

"It's the coming back in that's the key. When you leave, the system hasn't had a chance to implement whatever change you made. How does it fit?"

"It feels fine," I said, and it more or less did. No bra ever fits perfectly the first time you wear it. There are always little adjustments to make. Learning those is part of what happens when you start wearing a bra.

I took it off and returned to my locker. I'd gotten a couple of funny looks, and I could see why. I was wearing a bra, and nothing else, certainly not something you see every day.

I had one class after the one in the Clone, and afterwards I spent a few quality minutes enjoying the freedom of being without clothes. I found a guy to enjoy it with me, and we explored what happened when you inserted Tab X into Slot Y. All sorts of good things occur when you do that, I might add.

I waited for Suzanne, she'd been involved with a boy and took her time. James took us home, but when we got there Security ordered us inside. We were in a lockdown, and in that situation you don't have long philosophical debates, you just get under cover.

There are people who come after Father. Well, Mother, too, and Suzanne and I were considered legitimate targets. After all, if you kidnap us, you theoretically could dictate some policy changes to Father. It hadn't happened yet, and those who'd tried—they kidnapped Mother for about an hour one day—had not survived, and neither did the people who put them up to it. The FBI can be very thorough and, and they've made people understand that kidnapping is not a good idea.

I suppose I could ramble on about the way politics had degenerated in the US. Extremists on both ends of the spectrum had made politics a blood sport, but I'd had some glimmerings that things were beginning to tend back to the norm. There was only so much that the average person would put up with. We still had small groups of radicals who targeted anyone in power. Their reasons were lost in a regular mumbo-jumbo of political (non)-thought, fantasies that, when you got down to it were really adolescent, and arrant stupidity, but what else is new? People like that have been causing problems for the world since mankind left the trees.

I'd been following these political struggle since I was 10; early, I know, but it's true. Mother had helped me track down their writings, and I read everything I could on both sides. By the time I turned 14 I was convinced the best thing to do was to take them out of the gene pool as quickly as possible, and then go after the people who sought to profit from their actions.

The last few months had seen the turmoil peak. Those on the Right did their usual self-destruction. The ones on the Left were a lot more disciplined and practiced an almost military organization. Someone had turned on them, though, and was dismantling them. Whoever was doing it wasn't a law enforcement officer, that much was clear. I'd heard Father talking about it just a few days before.

"Somebody took out old Bill Rogers," he said. "Officially it's a mugging, but if you believe that, I have a gold-plated stock to sell you. This was a hit."

"What happened?" I was making changes to my portfolio, and would have ignored him, but Bill Rogers was a player, and he could affect what I was doing. The man had been in the way every time I tried to do something in the currency market. If he was no longer around, I could take advantage of that.